


Getting a Clue

by overlordpotatoe



Category: Original Work
Genre: Autism, Disability, Disabled Character, M/M, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21623644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overlordpotatoe/pseuds/overlordpotatoe
Summary: How hard do you have to flirt with Casper before he gets a fucking clue? Jethro is going to find out.
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

If you want to help the needy, Christmas is the absolute  _ worst _ day you can choose. Why? Because that’s when every single other person wants to help the needy. Well, okay, not  _ everyone _ , but if you’re going to choose just one day to put in the effort, there's a good chance Christmas is going to be it.

You’re going to have to get creative if you want there to actually be room for you to be useful. A Christmas party at a church was about as uncreative as you could get.

I was there because my parents had told me it would be a good thing to do since we weren’t really doing much anyway. Everyone else was there because… religion, maybe? Probably.

I hadn’t really  _ objected _ to the idea. I wasn’t really surprised it hadn’t ended up being a great one, but, well, whatever. At least I had lemon sponge cake.

In theory it was fine, but because of the aforementioned fuckton of people — most of who were way more invested in this shit than I could ever hope to be — all I’d actually done here was carry a couple of things and then lurk awkwardly and eat their cake.

Probably our real purpose was talking to the vulnerable members of the community who had come here for Christmas dinner because they had nowhere else to go. That’s what my parents were in there doing. But fuck that shit.

Not that I didn’t care or… whatever. I just couldn’t do it. And didn’t want to. But mostly couldn’t. I couldn’t even go inside the room they’d set up for dining longer than was required to grab more cake and watery cordial. I didn’t know how other people’s brains could work when they were surrounded by so much activity.

So I was just sitting outside, back against the church as I ate my cake, pretending this wasn’t  _ painfully _ awkward. They had a nice fountain.

When I noticed someone approaching, I was very careful not to look at them. It was a great way to encourage people to leave you alone without  _ technically _ being rude, because they can’t be sure you just didn’t notice them. A lot of manners was just plausible deniability, really. You can’t just straight up tell someone to leave you alone, on Christmas of all days, but hinting it in a way that  _ might _ have been accidental? Yeah, that’s fine.

Unfortunately, this person had now crossed out of the plausible deniability zone. I might have been able to extend it a little further if I’d thought to bring my iPod, but, well, here we were. I looked up.

It was a guy probably around my age — sixteen — and he was upsettingly handsome. He had blond hair down to his chin that was combed in a kind of a sweep over the top of his head that had definitely taken work and hair product to achieve. I wanted to mess it up. Then maybe we could get on the same level. My own short brown hair always looked like someone had messed it up.

Anyway, I definitely didn’t want to talk to this guy’s handsome face. I didn’t want to talk to anyone but, like, an ugly person or maybe an old person who I definitely wouldn’t have been sexually attracted to would have been preferable. Social interaction was hard enough without having to pretend you didn’t want to touch some dude’s nice hair.

“Hey,” the guy said, and his smile revealed he had nice teeth, too. Fuck. “You sitting alone?”

And, again, I wasn’t allowed to be honest here. Like gee yes I sure am, despite ample opportunity to not being doing that. Weird, huh? Wonder why. Mysteries. But I couldn’t just say that. Not even without the snark.

“Yup.”

“Mind if I sit with you?”

It was slowly, horrifyingly dawning upon me that I had become this guy’s needy person to be kind to on Christmas. That  _ poor guy _ , sitting  _ all on his own _ . Well if that was his game plan he should have brought more cake, because I was almost out.

But I couldn’t say no. Or, like, I technically could, but  _ come on _ . I was antisocial, not mean.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Thanks!” The guy sat down just a  _ tiny _ bit not close enough for our knees to touch. Maybe this would have all been worth it if there’d been knee touching, but alas. “My name’s Jethro, by the way.”

I almost forgot to bother to file that under information I should remember, and then also forgot to say my own name. My two most frequent name related blunders. By the time I remembered how all this was supposed to go, the silence had stretched much too long. “Casper.”

“Like the ghost?”

“Mm.”

“Sorry. I guess you get that a lot, huh?”

“I don’t mind.”   
  
Which was true. Kids at school had tried to use that to tease me at various points, but like, who cares? References to Casper the Friendly Ghost just aren’t any kind of a biting insult. It was almost funny how upsetting it wasn’t at all. Like, come on guys, there’s no shortage of things I’m actually insecure about and they’re pretty fucking obvious. Was it so much to ask for a jab at me being weird and having no friends? A joke or two about my sexuality?

Not that I was insecure about my sexuality. Not unless I was around a hot guy who might realise I was checking him out,  _ Jared _ . Wait, no. Jethro. Fuck, I was bad at names. I didn’t know why I was bothering to retain this one at all. I didn’t plan to ever use it.

Anyway, I guess teasing me about my sexuality would have required people to know anything about me at all. Generally they did not.

“So, are you here alone?” Jethro asked. It was  _ very _ hard not to look at his hair.

“No. With my family.”

“Oh. Are you still in high school?”

What the fuck did he think? If anything, people usually thought I looked younger than I was. Probably because I had the body language of a five year old.

But I supposed I could have dropped out or something, so… okay, fine. Acceptable question.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yup!” Jethro said. “Grade eleven.”

I carefully gathered crumbs off my plastic plate with my plastic spoon. Was getting more cake an acceptable reason to ditch this guy? Probably not to like… anyone other than me. I was almost out of shitty cordial, too.

“My parents are here too. My mum was part of the set up crew,” Jethro said. “Do you go to church here?”

“No.” I didn’t go to church anywhere, ever, but that wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have outside a church at Christmas. Or like also anywhere ever, actually.

“Yeah, me either. My grandma used to take me when I was little, but as a rule I prefer to avoid anywhere with a dress code.”

He was abiding by one now, though, and probably better than I was with his perfectly ironed white collared shirt. Jethro combed his hair back away from his eyes and it slid through his fingers like a silky dream.

And now I was looking at him and I’d been looking at him for too long. Fuck, shit, oops. Abort. I desperately searched for an excuse. “I like your necklace.”

And that wasn’t even a lie because I actually fucking  _ did _ . Though maybe that didn’t make me look any less gay because it had purple beads — some with a swirly pattern and some that seemed to glow in the light — with silver beads to space them. But you’re fucking wearing it, buddy, so there.

“Thanks!” Jethro lifted it up so that he could look at it, as though he didn’t know what his own necklace looked like. “Hey, it matches your shirt!”

I looked down at my shirt, not because I’d forgotten what it looked like but because my eyes needed someplace else to be. Yup. My shirt  _ was _ purple. “I guess so.”

“Do you want it?” He was already undoing the clasp.

“No, that’s okay. I don’t want to take your necklace.”

“Nah, it’s cool, come on. I made it myself so I can just make another. Consider it a Christmas gift.”

I don’t want to take your  _ lovingly crafted handmade necklace _ , fucking hell. But… I also didn’t want to decline it. Which one of those was ruder?

But fuck it, I really did want that necklace.

“Thanks,” I said as I took it.

And then I couldn’t get the tiny, fiddly clasp done up with my stupid, uncoordinated hands. This was why I didn’t do sports. This was exactly why.

“Here, let me help.”

And then Jethro was touching me which was good and so bad. It was the most action I’d ever had and would probably ever get. It was a Christmas miracle and/or a blessing from Jesus that my penis was behaving itself.  _ Mostly _ behaving itself.

Jethro leant back to look at me and nodded in satisfaction. “Looks better on you than it did on me.”

Which was a fucking lie and he knew it. Nothing looked better on me than it would on Jethro, except maybe a bag over my head. And my body. Not that I was ugly, I just didn’t look  _ like that _ . I didn’t even look as good as I potentially could have because I wasn’t a fucking hair wizard like this guy. Or like… particularly made any effort at all. Or got haircuts as often as I should have.

“Anyway, I guess I’d better go see if my parents need any help,” Jethro said. “Can I get you anything?”

More cake. “No.”

Jethro pushed himself up. “Cool, well, it was nice to meet you, Casper. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

Fuck, I hoped not. “Yeah, maybe. Nice meeting you too.”

I stared at his back as he headed inside and let out a long sigh. How long was it going to take me to get over this one?


	2. Chapter 2

I was so fucking bored. It was the second Friday in February and my first day getting back into the swing of routine around seeing my psychiatrist after the summer holidays. 

On the second Friday of every month my dad took me to see my psychiatrist and then brought me into work with him because he didn’t want to miss work to drive me to school afterwards and I didn’t want to catch the bus, so it was a whole thing. I was downright refusing to take part in public transport after fucking it up  _ twice _ and getting lost. They’d probably pressure me into it eventually, but for now I just skipped a day of school a month.

Which was fine. It wasn’t like I was missing anything important. I was pretty sure they hadn’t taught me a single thing I couldn’t do without since I learnt reading and writing and basic math. It felt like everything we were being taught now was shit maybe 5% of us would ever actually use, and probably then we could have done just as well with half an hour on Google. I doubted any of us would even remember most of this shit even if we did need it anyway.

But I couldn’t just drop out. Mostly because my parents would never let me, but also because I didn’t want to deal with feeling like even more of a useless piece of shit than I already did.

I wasn’t even actually bad at school. Or, like, I absolutely was in the same way I was bad at everything that involved interacting with people or doing things that were simple and easy for everyone else. But I got good grades and that was the only measure that seemed to matter to anyone.

Though to be fair, that was the only measure they really had. I sure as fuck wasn’t about to let anyone see me cry or talk about my feelings or whatever the fuck. People kept telling me that doing those things would help, but I still thought that was just one hell of a neurotypical assumption. Most of my problems were that interacting with people sucked, and you expect me to solve that by interacting with an additional person? Yeah, thanks, very helpful.

So anyway, by lunch time I was bored out of my mind. I’d already finished all my homework and I didn’t even have any assignments to work on this early in the year. There was nothing more awkward than sitting around with people you hardly knew when you had nothing to do. Well, okay, there were probably plenty of things more awkward than that but it was definitely up there. I’d even finished my book of Sudoku puzzles.

At least I had the little waiting area/reading nook to myself.

And then suddenly I didn’t because the worst thing had happened. Someone had approached me.

“Hey, Casper!”

It took me a few seconds to figure out how the fuck this dude knew my name, which was ridiculous because  _ that hair _ .

Though to be fair he did have it half tied back, so it looked a bit different, plus I was a bit faceblind and tended to completely forget what people looked like pretty much immediately if I didn’t expect to see them again. I suppose that’s just more of an explanation of how my brain sucked rather than a justification, though.

“Jethro,” the guy said, which was good because I had forgotten his name. “We met at that Christmas party.”

“Oh, yeah. Hey.” My fingers automatically went to tangle in the necklace he’d given me, which had become a nervous habit of mine.

“Oh, hey, you’re still wearing the necklace I gave you!” Jethro said, his face lighting up. He was wearing eyeliner, which drew even my eye contact aversive ass to notice what pretty blue eyes he had. The fucker. “You know, when I was thinking about it later I wondered if maybe you just said you liked it to be polite, so I’m glad to see you actually wanted it. Wait, you’re not just still wearing it because you can’t get the clasp off, right?”

“I  _ can _ , it just takes a while. I take it off to shower.” Which, fuck, I’d just basically admitted that was the  _ only _ time I took it off.

“Oh, you can shower in it. All the beads are waterproof.”

“I don’t like anything getting in the way of my nakedness.”

“That would be a shame.” Jethro’s entire face scrunched up. “Sorry. That was a weird thing to say.”

Goddammit, now I felt all sweaty and too hot and my heart was beating too fast. Having a crush was basically just another form of anxiety.

“But, uh, yeah,” Jethro continued. “Let me know if you want me to make you anything else. I can make necklaces like that one in different colours and styles, or bracelets.” He held up his wrist to show off three different bracelets in different bright colours.

“Uh, okay. How much do you want for them?”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to charge them for you like some kind of jewelry dealer. Like…” He lowered his voice to a deep, husky tone. “Hey kid, want a necklace? First one’s free, but I’m gonna start charging once you’re hooked…”

“No, I thought you were just… an artist. Who it would be polite to pay for materials and labour.”

Jethro laughed. “Oh, yeah, I guess. I sell stuff on Etsy sometimes, but I don’t charge my friends for stuff.”

“We’re not really friends, though.”

“Oh. Yeah.” There was an awkward stretch of silence. “Hey, I’d better pop in and let my mum know I’m here. I have to be back at school before lunch is over. It was nice talking to you again, Casper.”

“Yeah.”

Ugh, now I was going to have to think about that conversation for  _ at least _ the rest of the day. It wasn’t optional. Every time my mind wandered it would be right back there, replaying the whole thing for me to cringe at and unwillingly deconstruct.

It didn’t take many repeats for me to figure out where I’d fucked up.

_ We’re not really friends. _ I’d said that and then he’d immediately shut down and had somewhere else to be because that’s a fucking rude as shit thing to say to someone, Casper. I was so used to people not wanting to be friends with me that it hadn’t even occurred to me that telling someone we weren’t friends could come as any kind of disappointment.

I’d wanted him to leave me alone but not like  _ this  _ and, well, okay, maybe not really at all. At least on some level. Like simultaneously craving and wanting to kick a bad drug habit. I wanted him, of course I did, but I knew that path could only lead to disaster.

But more than anything I didn’t want to be mean. If there was even a small chance he might think back on this and feel bad and rejected and hurt, I didn’t want that. So I made him a paper crane.

And okay, sure, it was embarrassingly uninspired compared to his jewelry making, but it was a  _ symbolic _ paper crane. I just didn’t want him to think I hated him when he’d been nothing but infuriatingly nice.

I found him in the break room, looking through the fridge. He was alone, which was somehow awkward despite being less awkward than any other alternative.

I froze up the second he turned to look at me. This was dumb, this was a mistake. But fuck it, this wasn’t  _ for _ me. I’d had no illusions that this would go in any way I’d walk away from here feeling good about. But maybe  _ he _ could.

“Here.” I held out the crane.

He took it from me and turned it over in his fingers, examining it with more care than the shitty thing warranted. “Did you make this?”

“Yeah. I just… wanted to make you something. And that’s all I can make, really.”

“Thank you.” Jethro was smiling as he carefully tucked the crane into the pocket of his uniform shirt. “So, you off school today?”

“Yeah, doctor’s appointment.” I preferred to be vague about the whole psychiatrist thing so that I didn’t make it any more blatantly obvious that I was different. Psychiatrists are a kind of doctor anyway so it wasn’t like it was a lie.

“Oh, cool.” Jethro made a face. “Or not cool, maybe? But anyway, you know. I’m glad I got to see you again. Do one of your parents work here?”

“My dad.”

“My mum started here recently. Maybe we’ll see each other around a bit?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Fuck, this conversation was one sided as hell. “Uh… do you come here often?”

What was that, Casper? What the actual fuck was that?

Jethro laughed liked I’d made a funny joke instead of just having a stupid mouth. “Yeah, a bit I guess? Maybe I’m just still riding high on the novelty of being old enough to be allowed off campus during lunch.”

“I wish my school let us do that. We live close enough that I could just go home.” But then of course I’d have to force myself to go back to school when lunch was over, and I wasn’t sure if I could deal with that more than once in one day.

“Ah, that sucks. I’m sorry for flaunting my beautiful privileges.”

You should be sorry for flaunting your beautiful face, more like. Did he really have to do things like wear eye makeup and take such good care of his hair? He’d be gorgeous regardless. Maybe if he put in just a bit less effort it would be easier to look at him without blatantly checking him out.

Jethro checked his phone and frowned. “I guess I’d better get going. Listen, can I get your number?”

“I don’t remember what it is.”

“Oh. That’s okay,” Jethro said, already taking a step back towards the door.

“You could give me yours instead.”

“Oh! Yeah, that works.” Jethro snatched a pen from the lunch table, looked around for another moment, then held his hand out towards mine. “Here.”

I let him take my hand and then I swear I became at least twice as gay as I previously was as he carefully wrote his number on the back of my hand. His handwriting was way nicer than mine as well. Of course.

“Anyway, I’ve got to go,” Jethro said. “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I guess so.”


	3. Chapter 3

I had no idea what to text Jethro, and I kept going back and forth on whether I should even do it at all. On the one hand he seemed to actually want me to, which was weird, but on the other, like, what was I even after here? I wanted to talk to him again because I wanted him to touch my dick, but that wasn’t exactly what was on offer.

But when it came down to it, I was past actually being able to resist that lure. He was hot and he was nice and he’d given me attention. My self control was miles short of being able to resist that.

The problem remained, though: what to say? All I really knew about this guy was that he liked making jewelry. What did straight guys even talk about with each other? Girls, maybe?

Well, there was only one girl in my life I wanted to talk about. I was going to send him a picture of my dog, Pippi. I had nothing better to offer in this world than a picture of her and, as a bonus, if he dissed my dog I could stop having a crush on him.

She was small and mostly white and a good, good girl. My parents got her for me soon after I started high school because I wasn’t coping so well. Life had only been getting harder and I hadn’t been getting any better at dealing with it. It was like one of those old arcade games where there was no real win state — just a slowly ramping difficulty until you ultimately lost.

And then there was therapy and diagnosis and more therapy. Don’t get me wrong, I still felt like I was slowly spiraling towards ultimate doom, but keeping myself afloat right now was too much work to worry about the future.

It didn’t take me long to get a good picture of Pippi because she was a good good girl, the best girl, and also she really wanted the dog biscuit I was holding. I pressed send.

I flopped down on my bed and Pippi started digging at the blankets next to me, making herself a cozy nest. My life was now on hold until he replied. I was absolutely not going to be getting anything else done. Fortunately, he only kept me waiting a couple of minutes.

_ Cute <3 _ , was his first message.

_ Who’s this?, _ was his second.

Whelp, I spent two weeks trying to figure out what to say to this guy and turns out I screwed it up anyway. Who the fuck you are would have been a great and very easy place to start, Casper. This was probably what not being able to see the forest for the trees meant. Exactly this thing.

_ Casper _ , I sent back, because at least that communication path was crystal fucking clear. The future was a dangerous mystery, but this one next step in the conversation was easy.

And then he didn’t reply for ten. Fucking. Minutes.

I was debating which was more likely — that he’d decided he hated me or he’d forgotten who I was entirely — when my phone finally pinged again. He’d sent a picture back.

He was in the picture because I guess if you’re that attractive you make sure you’re in  _ every _ picture. There was a black and white rat on his shoulder — presumably his own pet — and he was scratching its ears with fingernails he’d painted turquoise.

What was I even supposed to say to that? Like, thanks for the picture, dude. Really helps to make my fantasies about touching your soft, soft hair all the more vivid.

_ I like your nails _ , I sent back, then cringed at myself. That was  _ barely _ less gay than that other thing.  _ The rat’s cool too _ . 

_ Thx! Have to save it for the weekend because not allowed at school :( _

This guy seemed to have a new look for every day. I barely had a look at all. I just had clothes that were tolerably comfortable. The closest thing to fashion I had was the necklace he’d given me.

And then, while I was trying to figure out what to say back, he fucking  _ called _ me.

Who does that? Who just calls someone? Well okay probably most people and it’s totally normal but come  _ on _ !

I didn’t want to answer. I fucking hated talking to people on the phone. But I had to answer, right? If I didn’t I’d either have to explain why or give up on this whole thing, and I didn’t want to do either of those. So I answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Cas!”

_ Cas _ . He’d called me  _ Cas _ . That was what my mum called me sometimes, but it sure didn’t make me feel like this coming from her lips.

“Hey…”

“What are you up to?”

Dying, currently. “Not much.”

“I was starting to think I wasn’t going to hear from you.”

“I’ve been busy,” I said, and then immediately regretted it because no I fucking hadn’t been. I just had the almost supernatural ability to do absolutely nothing and still feel like I had too much on my plate.

“What have you been up to?”

And there it was. This is why lying is bad, kids. It took me five seconds to get tangled in this web of deceit I’d spun. There were several seconds of awkward silence before I finally came up with a response. “Just… school stuff.”

“Ah, yeah, I’m missing the summer holidays already. They seem to go faster every year.”

“Yeah.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, I couldn’t hold a conversation to save my life. “Uh… have you been up to anything?”

“Nothing too exciting. I just got back from my friend’s birthday party so I have a tummy full of fairy bread.”

“They still serve fairy bread at birthday parties when you’re sixteen?”

Jethro laughed. “Listen, the great thing about fairy bread is you can have it no matter how old you are. You can even have it when you’re not at a birthday party. I could just go whip myself up a plate of it right now, but I won’t because I am so full. I swear I ate like half of what was there and I have no regrets.”

“Did someone at the party do your nails?”

“Nah, I did my nails.”

“Oh,” I said, because I thought telling him I liked them would be weird but turns out that just saying ‘oh’ is like ten times fucking weirder. But hey, I’d probably jumped on the weird train the second I’d brought it up. The second I’d answered the phone.

“Have you ever painted yours?”

“No. I bet I’d just end up getting annoyed at the feel of it. I mean I have a hard enough time keeping myself from picking at my nails when I don’t have shit on them.”

Jethro laughed again. “Yeah, that’s fair. It’s definitely not for everyone.”

“It wouldn’t look good on me anyway.”

“Now, I don’t think that’s true. Take that purple shirt you were wearing when we met, plus the necklace I gave you and some purple nail polish? That’s quite a look right there.”

“I don’t really bother much with that kind of thing, I guess.” Pippi was licking my fingers. I wondered if she could hear how fast my heart was beating. They probably actually just tasted like dog biscuits.

“Don’t worry. I’m not, like, a snob about this stuff. People should wear whatever makes them most comfortable. Trust me, I get enough shit about doing that myself that I’m not going to be a jerk to anyone else about it. I just get a little excited about fashion stuff sometimes.”

“Well, you’re good at it.”

“Thank you!” He sounded genuinely pleased I thought so, too, even though he probably couldn’t leave the house without someone telling him that.

“I bet it makes people notice you. I wouldn’t want people to notice me that much.”

“You’re kinda shy, huh?”

Shy… severe social anxiety… basically the same. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I thought so. You’re kind of hard to read.”

“Good. I suck at reading everyone else so I’ve got to level the playing field somehow.”

That startled another laugh out of him. “Fair enough, I guess. By the way, if there’s anything you want to know about me you can just ask.”

Oh, fuck. What was it about this guy and putting me on the spot? No, wait, that was kind of how every conversation with other humans went, I just generally avoided having them. “What’s your rat’s name?”

“Linda. She stole my bracelet when I was distracted calling you.”

“Stole it?”

“Yup. She has the run of my room when she’s out and basically any small object she can get her cute little paws on goes in her cage.”

“I didn’t realise rats did stuff. We had a guinea pig when I was little and I’m pretty sure all it ever did was eat.”

“Oh, yeah, they’re super smart and curious and friendly. I love her. What’s your dog’s name?”

“Pippi.” Pippi perked up at the sound of her own name and I scratched her ear. “I paid her with a dog biscuit to model for that picture I sent you.”

“That picture was worth  _ at least _ two dog biscuits.”

“If I gave her as many dog biscuits as she deserved, she’d be very fat.”

“That’s so true. Give her a hug for me instead, then.”

“Okay.” I wrapped my arm around her and squeezed her against me. She tolerated it and then headbutted my hand for more ear scratches.

I could hear someone else talking in the background and Jethro was silent for a moment. “Ugh, my dad wants me to mow the lawn. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye!”

That had gone… okay? Not great by most reasonable standards, but considering it was me and it was a phone conversation it was about the best I could have expected.

Problem was, I’d gotten there on pure adrenaline, borrowing from stores I didn’t have. I could already feel myself starting to crash. 

I scooped Pippi up and retreated to my closet, passing the list of emergency contact numbers my mum had pinned to the corkboard next to my computer. Another very neurotypical misunderstanding of how I could be helped. 

I wasn’t about to tell her that I’d never call any of those numbers in a mental health emergency, that trying to talk on the phone when shit got bad would only make things worse. I didn’t want her to worry. But, well,  _ come on _ . She knew I didn’t handle phone calls well.

It was dark in my closet, and quiet and small. I didn’t really know why that helped, but I had a desperate urge to hide whenever I got too overwhelmed so I just rolled with it.

And then I was crying and everything was too much and I hated this. Pippi, my good good girl, stayed in my lap and licked tears off my chin.

I used to think I got upset like this randomly, for no real reason at all. After much introspection I’d come to realise that there always was a reason, they were just usually  _ really _ dumb. Even I found it difficult to comprehend why certain things completely wrecked me like this.

Still, it was easier now that I understood that there was a direct cause. I was in a closet crying right now because I’d done something stressful, and now my brain was just reacting to the flood of bad hormones it had received. I just had to wait it out.

But fuck, if Jethro kept calling me we were going to have problems. I already overloaded on stress way more than was good for me. Annnd now I was worrying about him calling me again and it was making me even more upset. But I couldn’t stop.

Then, as if to validate my fears, my phone rang again. I waited for it to ring out before crawling out to turn it off and then returning to my closet.

I found most problems were easiest to deal with if you tackled them right away. I also rarely did that. So, basically, it took me three days to turn my phone back on.

I had two missed calls and three texts from Jethro. That could have been worse, right? Oh boy, if there was one thing I was keenly aware of it was how much worse things could be and also become at any moment.

The first text was a picture of him lying on his back on freshly mown grass, smiling up at the camera. The second text said  _ Job complete _ . The third text, which had arrived after the phone call attempts, said,  _ Everything okay? _

He hadn’t attempted to contact me again after that, so I was guessing he knew exactly how much I was avoiding him. Or just got bored. One of those things.

_ Can we just text instead of doing calls? _ I sent back, and then immediately regretted it because coming straight out with that after three days of silence made it seem like a big deal. I mean, it absolutely was a big deal, but I didn’t want him to know that.

_ Yeah, of course _ , he sent back a few minutes later.  _ Did I say something that upset you? _

_ No, I just don’t like phone calls _ .

_ Oh, sorry! I should have asked before calling. _

I scoffed quietly to myself.  _ If you expect to be able to predict what I’m going to be weird about, you’re going to have a bad time. _

_ I know I can’t. That’s where the asking comes in _ .

Right, because that was a practical way to live your life. Even I couldn’t predict what dumb shit was going to knock me out of whack next. But I supposed it was nice that he cared enough to try.  _ Thanks. _


	4. Chapter 4

By the time the second Friday of March rolled around, Jethro and I had been talking pretty solidly for about a week and a half. Or mostly, he talked. Not that he was rudely dominating the conversation or anything, there just wouldn’t have been one at all if he hadn’t been there to keep things going. I was bad at this whole friendship thing.  _ Really _ bad.

Jethro was probably so much better at it than me because he didn’t hold back. He was so good at having things to say and questions to ask and he didn’t second guess himself all the time like I did. I was pretty sure that the thing that made me most boring was my deep fear of being boring.

But I supposed Jethro didn’t think I was boring. I’d thought long and hard about why he might want to talk to me if I was, but I couldn’t come up with anything. I’d even wondered if maybe my dad had paid him to be my friend, but that seemed unlikely.

Anyway, it was the second Friday of March and that meant my psychiatrist’s appointment was today and then I’d be at my dad’s work for the rest of the day and there was a chance I might see Jethro. So I had to carefully consider my outfit.

I didn’t really know why. It wasn’t like Jethro was going to be like, ‘you know I was straight, but after seeing the way your ass looks in those jeans…’ 

Anyway, my ass looked pretty decent in these jeans. I didn’t normally wear them because they weren’t super comfortable, but I guess trying to change someone’s sexuality with my ass meat was just that important to me.

I considered taking the necklace he’d given me off just so he didn’t think I always wore it, but fuck it. I did always wear it and I didn’t want to change that. I dug up another purple T-shirt so that it at least looked like I was maybe just coordinating.

My psychiatrist’s appointment was uneventful, as always. I never had anything to say, but he still insisted on seeing me every month. He seemed determined that he could make my brain at least a little less fucked up, but if it required basically any effort on my part I was against it. 

Like yeah, okay, maybe some of this shit would make my life better in the long run, but do you think I had enough spare energy to invest in my eventual betterment? I did not. Most of my energy for today, for example, had been invested in wearing slightly uncomfortable jeans and worrying about what I was going to say to Jethro if I saw him.

Maybe he could at least appreciate my ass from an aesthetic perspective. He was artistic like that.

And then Jethro did show up and he looked at me and I had no idea what to say.

But he did. He always did. “Hey, Cas! I didn’t know you’d be here today.”

_ Cas _ . Why did that sound so good when he said it? “Hey.”

Jethro wasn’t wearing any make up today, but he’d done a few tiny plaits throughout his hair. The necklace he was wearing was pink, yellow, and blue, a sharp contrast to the plain colours of his school uniform. “Doctor’s appointment again?”

“Yeah. Second Friday of every month.”

“I’ll add that to my calendar. You busy?”

I looked down at the math problem I’d been working on. It wasn’t even homework, I’d just been  _ that _ bored. “Nope.”

“Cool. Well, I’m going to go microwave a sausage roll if you want to come hang out in the kitchen for a bit.”

I shut my notebook and tossed it in the general direction of my backpack. “Beats math.”

Jethro laughed as he led the way towards the kitchen. “Not exactly high praise, but I’ll take it.”

“Do you need to go tell your mum you’re here?”

“Nah. I think that’s pretty much assumed at this point.”

I sat down at the table and watched him get his sausage roll out of the fridge. “I’m surprised you’re here that often. Don’t you hang out with your friends at lunch?”

He turned around and leant against the counter as his sausage roll turned slowly in the microwave. “Ah, yeah, sometimes, but to be honest I need a bit of quiet time. I can be kind of high energy at times, and don’t get me wrong I do enjoy that, but it burns me out if I’m not careful.”

“Well, let me know if I’m intruding on your quiet time and I’ll leave you alone.”

Jethro smiled. “Pfft. Since when are you  _ not _ quiet?”

“True. I’m glad my one skill is finally useful.”

“No, not like that.” Jethro came and sat across from me at the table. He leant his chest on it and let his arms splay out in front of him. “You’re just like… peaceful.”

“I have never been peaceful, ever, in my life.”

Jethro laughed. “No, just… I don’t know. You don’t make a big deal about things.”

“I find it hard to believe I’ve hidden my crippling anxiety that well.”

He laughed again and folded his arms in front of him so that he could rest his chin on them and look at me better. “Okay, I guess I should clarify. I tend to be pretty openly eccentric in how I present myself. Some people hate it and some people love it, but you just… accept it. Or, hey, maybe you’ve been silently judging me this whole time. I don’t know, right?”

I shrugged. It wasn’t like I hadn’t noticed, if that’s what he thought. I’d fucking  _ noticed _ , Jethro. But any kind of big deal I might have made about it would have been embarrassing and gay. “I try not to judge people for things they do better than me, which is most things with most people. And style, with you? Definitely.”

The microwave beeped, but Jethro ignored it. “I don’t think style is something you can really compare on a scale of better or worse. Everyone just has their own.”   
  


“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

He laughed. “No! I mean, I’m sure professional fashion people would disagree, but whatever. I just want to be me and I think you being you is just as good.”

“Well, you have better hair than me. That’s objective fucking science.”

“I do like my hair. Yours is good too, though.”

“Mine’s a mess.”

“No, it’s not! It’s just…” He waved his hand in a vague gesture. “Wavy.”

“It’s terrible.”   
  


Jethro put his elbow on the table and perched his chin on his fist. “If you don’t like it, then change it.”

“Well… I don’t know what to do to it.”

“Hmm…” Jethro tilted his head and looked me over. “An undercut, maybe?”

“What’s that?”

“Long on top and short around the back and sides. Here.” Jethro fiddled around on his phone for a few seconds and then held it up to show me some pictures. “I kind of wanted to get it done, but I like having my hair long enough to do different things.”

“You think that would look good on me?”

“I do.” The microwave gave an impatient beep and Jethro finally got up to get his sausage roll. “Doesn’t really matter what I think, though. This is about you being happy with how you look.”

“Well, pro, I do like the way it looks. But here’s a con… I’d have to spend more time at the hairdressers than I usually do while they restyle it.”

Jethro sat back down with his sausage roll. “Why is that a problem?”

“They always try to talk to me and it’s super awkward.”

“Well…” Jethro took a bite of his sausage roll and fell silent for a moment as he chewed and swallowed. “I can do it for you if you like.”

“You can cut hair?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ve been cutting my own hair for years and I’ve done it for friends a few times. That’s what I want to study after high school.”

Of course he had ambitions and plans and things he was passionate about. I just had hope that things would sort themselves out without any effort on my part and a sickly knowledge that they wouldn’t.

“Okay,” I said. “I mean, you can’t really make it look any worse, right?”

Jethro gave me a sad smile. “You know, I really wish you were as nice to yourself as you are to me.”

I had no idea what to say to that. He sounded a little like my psychiatrist, except that nobody had paid Jethro to give a shit so it was much harder to simply dismiss it.

“Anyway, when do you want to do this?” Jethro asked. “We could go back to my place after I get off school if you want.”

I hadn’t even considered that aspect of things, and if I had it would have made this decision  _ much _ easier. Heck yeah you can potentially fuck up my hair as long as I get to see the inside of your bedroom. Not that I didn’t already have a good idea of what it looked like. Jethro’s texting style was around a quarter pictures.

“Uh... yeah, that’s fine. I just have to ask my dad, but I’m sure he won’t have a problem with it.”

What he would have were questions, because neither of my parents knew I’d been talking to Jethro. I’d been hoping to avoid that conversation indefinitely. They would definitely guess I was into him, because of course I was. I was gay and he was gorgeous. It wasn’t difficult to figure out.

So after Jethro had finished his sausage roll, I went into my dad’s office while Jethro lingered in the doorway.

“Dad?”

“Mm?” my dad said, his back to me as he read through his emails.

“Can I go over to Jethro’s house after he’s done with school?”

It seemed to take him a moment to actually process what I’d said, then he abruptly turned around. Jethro waved at him from the doorway.

“Oh,” my dad said. “Yes, of course. I didn’t know you two were friends.”

“Yeah, I’m full of secrets and hidden depths. I’ll let you know before I leave.”

I left before he could say anything else. He  _ probably _ wouldn’t have said anything embarrassing in front of Jethro, but who could really be sure? Dads were dangerous and unpredictable like that.

Jethro sighed as we walked back out to the reception area. “I  _ guess _ I’d better go now. I’ll see you in a couple of hours?”

“Yup.”

He smiled. “Great. Text me if you get bored. I have art and the teacher is super chill.”

I let out a long breath as he walked away. I felt so good it almost felt bad, like my body was so unused to excitement that it could only process it as anxiety. And, well, maybe there was also a fuckton of actual anxiety in there too. I’d never wanted something so badly in my life.

I sat down and got to work on something far harder than any math problem: trying to figure out what I was going to text Jethro.


	5. Chapter 5

I didn’t do well with suddenly changing plans. I would have felt better if I’d had a couple of weeks to really ruminate over the idea of going over the Jethro’s house. I needed time to thoroughly mentally map the entire situation.

And yeah, I knew that was kind of just an anxiety thing and not really necessary and all that. Except for all those times I  _ had _ been dumped into a situation unprepared and I  _ had  _ fucked things up because I hadn’t known what to do.

That’s the thing about autism and how it feeds into social anxiety, I think. We  _ do _ fuck up. If I abandoned caution entirely, I’d fuck up a lot more and not always in ways that didn’t matter. The line between what was useful and what was self destructive was blurred. 

And frankly the whole thing was not so much within my control, either, which I supposed was the bad part. It didn’t matter if I didn’t want to think or worry about this shit. I could decide not to and literally five seconds later I’d be right back there.

Jethro was, ironically, providing the best distraction. They were painting, and he kept sending me pictures and basically live texting the entire class. He wasn’t a very good painter, which was kind of a relief to see. He had too many skills and it made me feel inadequate.

I made sure I was ready and waiting outside by the time he came to get me after school. I wanted to avoid any possibility of my dad saying anything embarrassing to him.

Jethro greeted me with a smile. He had a flower tucked behind his ear. “Hey.”

“Hey.” God, I hoped I could act like a normal human for two fucking hours. Or at least an acceptably abnormal one.

Jethro led the way down a quieter side street, off the main road. “Haven’t changed your mind about me cutting your hair?”

That was the absolute least of my worries. Could he actually cut hair? I hardly gave a shit. If he fucked it up I’d just shave it all off and probably still end up looking better than I did now. “Nope.”

“My house is about twenty minutes walk from here. Not too far!”

But more than long enough for my lack of conversation skills to become apparent. “You have paint on your hands.”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to waste time after class trying to wash it all off.” He lifted his hands up and wiggled his painty fingers in front of him. “Got places to be today.”

It took me a moment to realise he meant with me. It would never stop surprising me that he actually valued my company. “It suits you, anyway. Colourful.”

“Well, you know me.” He shot me a smile. “If I’m going to be a dirty boy, I’ll do it with style.”

And somehow the conversation kept going, and it was only minimally weird and awkward.

Jethro lived in a normal house on a normal street. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting, but somehow anything mundane about him came as a surprise.

He led me upstairs, and there it was. His room was  _ much _ closer to my expectations.

Jethro never missed an opportunity to express who he was, and his bedroom decoration reflected that. He had a lava lamp, and fairy lights, and art prints on his walls. It was kind of chaotic, but at the same time it came together. Much like him.

The first thing he did was go over and open the little door to Linda’s cage. She immediately climbed out onto the table the cage was on and sniffed the air.

“You can say hello if you want,” Jethro told me. “She won’t bite.”

“What if I’m just really tasty?” I asked, but I offered the rat my hand anyway.

“Damn, you’re right. Maybe she’s actually on a reconnaissance mission for me to find out?”

I turned around to look at him, and then abruptly turned away again when I got an eyeful of bare chest.

He laughed. “Sorry. I just wanted to change out of my uniform. I hate it.”

I pretended to be deeply interested in a pink, yellow, and blue flag hung up on his wall. Should I have offered to leave the room? No, I should have not panicked and looked away like his nipples were something obscene. Guys changed in front of one another all the time.

Well, I’d lasted about two minutes in his house before embarrassing myself. That was something.

And then I noticed something on his desk below the flag. A single, ugly paper crane. The one I’d made him.

If something like that had been on my desk it would have just been because I’d tossed it there, but despite the clutter there was clear order to Jethro’s room. He’d kept it and even given it its own little spot on display.

“Okay,” Jethro said, and I turned around to find him dressed in a red collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up and ripped jeans. How did he make everything look so good? “Ready for your haircut?”

Jethro carried a chair into his en suite bathroom and wrapped an old sheet around me to protect me from fallen hair. He readied the rest of his haircutting tools and then started carefully combing my hair.

I wasn’t always a huge fan of being touched, but this… Yeah, I wasn’t going to complain. If he wanted to just sit there and comb my hair for a few hours, that would be fine. I even had this very concealing sheet covering me if I got too into it.

I let out a sigh, shut my eyes, and relaxed as he started trimming my hair.

About half an hour later, Jethro took a step back and said, “Okay, what do you think?”

I thought I’d happily let him keep going and shave all my hair off if it meant he’d keep touching me. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes and turned to face the bathroom mirror.

And… huh. It actually looked good. I ran my fingers over the bits he’d buzzed short, then did it again because I liked the way it felt. Hello, new stim.

“So?” Jethro prompted.

“Oh. Yeah. I like it. Thank you.” I tried to smile because I was well aware I sucked at proper tone, but I caught a look at myself in the mirror and it just looked forced and awkward. Fuck. I really  _ did _ like it.

“I think it came out pretty good. I’ll give you some product to rub through it after you shower in the mornings, too. Help keep it styled nicely.”

“Thanks.” And all I’d given him was a shitty paper crane. I wasn’t going to offer to pay him, though. I wasn’t making that mistake again. “Do you mind if I take a shower? I don’t want to get hair everywhere.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. There are spare towels under the sink.”

I did not jerk off in his shower. Did I consider it? Yes, of course. I was a sixteen year old boy who’d just spent half an hour being touched by the guy he had a crush on. But I did not do it and I think we should all take a moment to appreciate my restraint.

Jethro held up a hairdryer as I stepped out of the bathroom. “Do you mind if I dry your hair off? I want to see what it looks like.”

More touching? Well, if you insist… “Sure.”

So he blow dried it and then he rubbed something through it and then the touching was over again, unfortunately. But my hair looked even nicer. 

Maybe… maybe I  _ didn’t _ have bad hair? Maybe I was just a lazy asshole? Well, definitely that, but maybe I could be a lazy asshole with nice hair. I just had to get it cut more frequently and dedicate some of my very limited energy stores to rubbing product through my hair once a day. I could do that, right? I guess we’d see.

“Thank you,” I said again, and I tried to convey actual feeling this time. I wasn’t very good at expressing emotions of any kind. “It looks much better now.”

“My pleasure,” Jethro said. “Maybe you could come by after school every time you have your doctor thing so I can keep it touched up? I mean, if you want to. Since you don’t like going to the hairdresser.”

I’d get to see and be touched by Jethro  _ and _ I wouldn’t have to go to the hairdresser anymore? Sign me the fuck up. “Sounds good.”

“Cool. So, uh… do you mind if I take a picture with you?”

I made a face. “I always look bad in pictures.”

“Ah, but we’ve already established that I’m an expert at making you look good.”

“Okay, fine,” I relented, not because I believed him but because he’d done so many things for me and I figured he probably needed a picture of the haircut for a portfolio if this was what he planned to do with his life.

So I was a bit surprised when he put his arm around me and I realised this was more of a selfie deal. He really did just want to take a picture with me. Well, I supposed he took pictures of and with everything else, so why not this too?

He took a few pictures, spent some time going through them, and then took a few more. The one he finally showed me was… actually not bad. Was there any skill he didn’t have? Oh yeah, painting. We’d established that. Thank fuck he was mediocre at painting.

Linda seemed curious about my haircut as well, or perhaps just me in general. She climbed up my back without hesitation then snuffled at my neck with her tickly whiskers as she explored my shoulders.

Something fell into my lap and I watched as purple and silver beads scattered across Jethro’s carpet. I reached for my necklace and my stomach dropped as I found it missing.

“Oh, shit, sorry.” Jethro picked his rat up from my shoulders and returned her to her cage. “She likes to chew threw the nylon thread sometimes. I should have warned you.”

“It’s okay.” 

I wasn’t angry, I was just sad. I’d become attached to that necklace even before I’d reconnected with Jethro, and now… Well, I’d miss it.

But I couldn’t let him know how much I cared, because the answer was  _ too much _ . I had too many emotions about things and I prefered nobody knew about it. Normally I’d leave the room or disengage with conversation with the person but, well, not really an option here. The best I could do right now was keep my head down and focus on picking up the beads.

“Don’t worry, I’ll rethread it for you,” Jethro said, already heading for one of his desk drawers. “Do you want me to make it any longer or shorter or change anything else while I’m at it?”

I shook my head. “I liked it how it was.”

He was fixing the problem. It wasn’t a problem any more. I took a deep breath and pulled myself back from the brink of disaster.

He sat against the side of his bed and I sat next to him and watched as he rethreaded the necklace with deft fingers. Watching him work was almost hypnotic and oddly soothing.

Jethro was just putting the clasp back on when I heard the front door open downstairs and his mum call his name.

Jethro made a face. “I guess your dad’s here to pick you up.”

“Seems likely,” I said as I began to push myself up.

“Wait,” Jethro said and gently grabbed my arm to keep me in place. 

And then I got one last bit of Jethro touching me as he helped me put my necklace back on. This had been a very good day. 

“Okay, done,” Jethro said as he leant back. “I  _ guess _ I’d better return you to your father now.”

“I’m sure he’ll be  _ so _ grateful.”

I hadn’t actually told my dad that Jethro was going to cut my hair, so needless to say he was a  _ little _ surprised when he saw me.

“Oh,” my dad said. “You… got a haircut?”

Which was understandably confusing to him. I never just got a haircut. That wasn’t how it worked. Normally my mum would spent a few weeks gently hinting that I was starting to look scruffy, and then eventually I’d relent and she’d make an appointment and we’d go there together. We hadn’t even been at the looking scruffy stage yet.

“Mm,” I said. “Jethro did it.”

“Oh.” My dad did a loop around me when I reached the bottom of the stairs, then looked up at Jethro. “You did a really good job with it. I’m surprised he let you do it. He’s not a big haircut fan.”

“Well, I didn’t make him sit through awkward conversation while I did it,” Jethro said. “Seems to be the key.”

Was that the reason he’d been completely silent throughout the haircut? Because I’d said I didn’t like it when hairdressers talked to me? I’d assumed he’d just been focussing. But to be honest, yeah, it had been nice to be able to just relax and enjoy the experience.

My dad fluffed the top of my hair up as we stepped outside and I swatted his hand away. He grinned at me. “He really did do a good job.”

“I know.”

“He seems nice.”

“He is nice.”

“That’s good. It’s good to see you making friends.”

“Not friends. Just one,” I said as I climbed into the back of the car.

My dad climbed into the driver's seat. “Well, how am I supposed to know? You were so secretive about this friend. You could have others. It’s like I don’t know you at all.”

“Good.”

He was silent for a moment as he pulled out onto the road, and then, “So, let’s get to know one another.”

“Uugh.”

And then there was my mum.

She glanced up as we walked through the front door, and then did a double take when she noticed my hair that would have been funny if I wasn’t so tired.

“You got a haircut?” she asked, her questioning gaze jumping between me and my dad in search of anyone who could unravel this mystery.

“His new friend did it,” my dad announced far too proudly.

“Oh, a friend!” my mum said.

“The son of a coworker of mine,” my dad explained. “He seems like a nice boy.”

“A nice boy,” my mum echoed, and then looked at me. “Is he cute?”

“I’m leaving now,” I said as I turned towards my room.

“Wait!” my mum called out. “Let me touch your hair!”

“Bye.”

“He is cute, isn’t he?”

I shut my bedroom door behind me. Yeah, he was cute.


End file.
